Authors: David Baldacci
“I can say the same about you.”
“No, you really can’t, Beth. I wish you could, but I’ve fallen down on the job.”
“It’s just a firstborn’s fate in life,” she said, attempting a smile.
“Was it my imagination or did the DCI seem really pleased about the turn of events?”
“Oh, no, he was. Now that Donnelly went down, guess who’s back in charge of the intelligence world and doing the presidential daily briefing?”
“Right.”
They shared a brief hug before Beth Perry turned back into Chief Perry, climbed into Cruiser One, and headed back to town to fight crime.
Roy said, “I don’t have any plans today. How about going out to lunch with a former college basketball player turned one-armed paper hanger? I’m buying.”
“Sounds great. I can help you cut up your food and wipe your mouth for you.”
“Yeah, that’ll be great practice for down the road.”
“Down
what
road?” Mace said sharply as she gave him a piercing stare.
He took a step back, his face turning red. “Uh, the road where I left my mouth with my size thirteen feet in it.”
“Oh, Roy, you’re so cute.”
“Seriously, do you want to go?”
“I’d love to.”
Late that night Mace climbed on her Ducati and fired it up. Two minutes later she was ripping down the highway into D.C. She hit the Sixth District and wound her way to the spot where her life had changed forever. Now the sight made her gut clench and her cheeks flame. But there would come a day she told herself when this spot would fill her with supreme satisfaction instead of heartbreak. And when that day came—and it would—Mace Perry would really be back.
The wink of a car’s lights made her turn around. She started when she saw the person climb out of the police cruiser.
Beth was still in uniform as she walked over to her and stood beside her sister.
“I thought you might come down here tonight.”
“It’s scary sometimes how well you know me.”
“We are sisters. And…” Beth fell silent.
“You were going to say
and cops,
right?”
“We’re not giving up on it, Mace.”
“I know.” After a few moments of silence, Mace said, “Why do I think Donnelly and Burns are sitting in an office somewhere doing business as usual?”
“Because they probably are.”
“Some justice.”
Beth stared up at the old apartment building. “It doesn’t look so bad anymore.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a dump.”
“A little elbow grease, some paint.”
“What?”
“It’s being turned into a rec center for the community.”
“Since when?”
“Since I got the mayor to approve it yesterday.”
“Why?” Mace asked.
“Why not? It’s an old building that serves no useful purpose. We could leave it here until it falls down. Or we can change it into something that’s useful. A way of moving forward. Applies to buildings. And people.”
Mace gazed at the place for a long moment. “You and Dad were always much better with symbolism than me.”
“I always thought you and Dad were a lot more alike.”
“Really?” said a surprised Mace. Beth nodded.
Mace glanced over at Cruiser One where the driver sat patiently. “You done for the night, sis?”
Beth stretched out her back. “Yeah, I was thinking of actually heading home and reading a book in the bathtub.”
“You want a ride?” Mace eyed her Ducati.
“What? On the bike?”
“Problem with that?”
“No, it’s just that, well, the liability factor if the chief of police—”
“Oh shut up and get on. You can use Roy’s helmet.”
On the way home, with Beth holding on to her tightly, Mace popped a wheelie and held it as she streaked down the GW Parkway, freaking out motorists as she flew past.
Beth started to scream something in her ear but then stopped. And then the by-the-book chief of police did the unthinkable. She held out her arms straight from her sides, leaned into her sister, and started making whooping sounds.
The sisters were headed back to the safe area of D.C., where people didn’t shoot each other over five-dollar crack scratches or to gain elusive respect. But they knew their hearts and their professional lives would always be on that unpredictable side of the line where you ran toward the fight and not away from it. That was where they really belonged.
The front wheel hit asphalt. Mace gunned the throttle and the Perry sisters disappeared down the road.
To David Young, Jamie Raab, Emi Battaglia, Jennifer Romanello, Tom Maciag, Martha Otis, Anthony Goff, Kim Hoffman, and all at Grand Central Publishing, for helping me every step of the way.
To Aaron and Arlene Priest, Lucy Childs, Lisa Erbach Vance, Nicole Kenealy, Frances Jalet-Miller, and John Richmond, for being so supportive.
To Maria Rejt and Katie James at Pan Macmillan, for all your great work.
To Grace McQuade and Lynn Goldberg, for keeping my name out there.
To D.C. Police Chief Cathy Lanier, for allowing me to see a terrific slice of the job.
To Lt. Morgan Kane, for coordinating everything and being patient and professional.
To Officer Rob Calligaro, thanks for the education and the boat ride.
To Officer Raymond Hawkins, thanks for the ride and the great insight.
To United States Attorneys Jeffrey Taylor and Glenn Kirschner, for your courtroom knowledge and expertise of how the D.C. criminal system works.
To Tom and Bob, for financial brainstorming.
To Dr. Monica Smiddy, who makes my forensics look so good.
To Dr. Alli Guleria, as always, for your help.
To Bob Schule, for your advice and political expertise.
To Tanmoy Mukherjee, M.D., for your medical expertise.
To the charity auction “name” winners. Don, I “hope” I did the name justice. To Julie, Mandy, and Kelly of Hamilton, Petrocelli & Sprissler, I hope you liked your page time.
To Lynette and Deborah, for doing what you do so damn well.